Getting Ready For Bed
by thesunshinekid
Summary: As Bella prepares for bed, eagerly anticipating Edward's presence in her room, she has no idea how close she comes to death.


**Author's Note: Hi again, all! I came up with this little one-shot the other night, while getting myself prepared for bed. This is written in Edward's point of view, and takes place the night after Edward takes Bella to the meadow, in the time between his leaving to avoid Charlie and turning up on her bed.**

**I do not own Twilight, nor do I own any of its respective characters.**

Getting Ready for Bed

I climbed through the second story window and leaned against the sill, my breathing shallow, adjusting. Her scent was the strongest here, even by the open window; she had touched everything in this room. She slept in this bed and wore these clothes and her hands caressed the pages of these books. It was as if the thousand voices in my head – with their constant yammering, day in and day out – had all become attuned to one another, raising up a common chant. "Blood, blood – Bella's blood!"

It was easier. Easier than that first day – I shuddered to think of it – before I had realized it was possible to feel so strongly attracted to a person's blood. It was one thing to hear of a "singer" – a human whose blood called so strongly to a vampire, he would have to be a saint to resist it. _Or fathered by a saint,_ I thought grimly. It had been solely for Carlisle's sake that I had resisted. I had killed many before – what was one more demerit on my record?

But this train of thought was one best left behind. I could not let my mind stray to rationalizing my almost-actions. Not even while in the space and fresh air could I forget that scent – the scent that plagued me now. It was so dangerous to be thinking of her, much less to be here – and once more, I considered doing the smart thing. I could walk away. I would be out of Isabella's life, and she would be safe.

_She might not be_, I reminded myself. Right now, she was too clumsy to be left on her own.

At least, that was the story I was sticking with. Because the monster within me knew that I could walk away, but I would not. I would not because, surprise of all surprises, the rest of me ached even more at the thought of being Bella-less. I could not keep away from her - much less kill her.

Satisfied that my reasoning had taken a step in the right direction, I took a deeper breath. Assaulting, yes. Tantalizing, yes. But I was not going to kill her. No, she was safe from that part of me, for now.

Isabella Swan, the most perfect creature I'd ever laid eyes on, was in the bathroom. I could hear the gentle swishing of the bristles of her toothbrush with each measured stroke she took. That I could be that toothbrush – nay! To be that toothpaste. To be so close to such an angel – it would be a dream. I remembered kissing her, the soft and eager lips of _my _Bella. Bella, for beautiful. Could she be any more perfect?

I took another breath and another step. I thought of her – of her perfect hair. I thought of her perfect eyes, her perfect smile, her perfect lips, her perfect blush, her perfect movements, her perfect laugh… I had found myself lately angry at not only the English language, but also every language I had studied over the years. None contained the word I sought to describe my Bella. My perfect Bella – though so much more than _merely_ "perfect."

I thought about surprising her as she readied herself for bed. Her father was nowhere near ready to retire, and I would hear of it when he was, so I didn't have to worry about being caught. I could meet her at the bathroom door as she left, and she would blush and with a gasp of surprise she would trip and I would be there to catch her.

For I wanted nothing more right now than to hold my more-than-perfect Bella in my less-than-worthy arms. _Well,_ I conceded, there was that beastly matter of her bountiful and sweet, sweet blood. But I didn't _really_ want that more than anything else. My body was simply playing tricks with me. My hypersensitive sense of smell was wreaking havoc with my otherwise rational mind.

I kept moving toward the door, one step and breath at a time. I knew _it_ would only get stronger as I edged closer to her. The fresh air of my run had only served to make this tougher once more. Bella had rinsed her toothbrush and was now pulling the floss through her teeth, and I imagined what her pattern was like. Did she start at the back? Or at the front? Which direction did she take – left to right, or right to left? Or was she a haphazard flosser, just searching for the most food-filled crevices of her beautiful mouth?

One more step, and I was in front of the door, matching my breathing to hers, listening as she continued to floss. I wanted to watch her. I wanted to watch her doing even the most mundane of things, just for the pleasure of watching such a creature. She could make flossing her teeth exquisite to see, I was sure of it.

Then it happened. One second, I was thinking about my beautiful girlfriend (but truly, we were more than that) with mint dental floss wrapped around her precious fingers. The next, I was lunging for the bathroom door.

A moment later, I was leaning with my head hanging out her bedroom window, inhaling the fresh air as if my life depended on it.

But my life didn't depend on it; _hers_ did.

I was thankful for whatever it remnant inside of me that wanted to keep her safe. Everything had screamed at me to take every last drop of _it_ right there.

The lovesick beau in me had other ideas, and for that, I was thankful.

Already, she had washed it down the drain, and the battering ram in my head was easing its blows. I held my breath a little longer, listening not to the motions of my almost-prey, but to the thoughts of her father.

_Bella seemed so happy tonight. She must have really enjoyed her day out. Funny, I didn't peg her for much of a shopper._

Charlie Swan thought so lovingly about his daughter, though I doubted he would express it aloud. He cared so much for her; I couldn't kill her.

I cared so much for her; I couldn't kill her. And then - what would my siblings say, what about their bets?

_What would a disappointed Carlisle say?_

Finally, I dared take a breath. The screams were drowning in the fresh air and the return of rational thought and thoughts of her father and thoughts of my father. I was going to be fine, and she would be fine.

I moved to lounge on her bed while I waited, assuming the most casual position I could think of, though my insides were far from casual.

I loved this girl too much to leave her, but already I knew that if I stayed it was all downhill from here.

A sadistic part of me – a _vampire_ part of me – chuckled.

That response in me – the worst since her first day at Forks High – such an intense _need_ to have her blood…

All she'd done was cut her gum with her dental floss.

**Reviews are appreciated; they are like Coldstone's ice cream on an oppressively hot summer's day.**


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